There's a poison in society,
administered by the media,
It keeps you in the future,
It keeps you in the past.

I got to read the label,
This is what it said,
Anti present,
Take 3 times a day,
Safe and effective,
Your time is all you pay.

Anti present,
Without it, you desires will fade away,
Anti present,
Don't be irresponsible, think how others will feel?
Anti present,
It's the real deal.

Sideffects may include:
Lack of self worth, unfulfillment and hollowness.

Waiting
for the
audience
to come to him ...
He refused
to go to them

Shunning
those ears
that hide
from the truth ...
Like a rose
without its stem

Working
in concert
with Muses
above ...
What’s sacred
to remain

Each word
and its
treasure
a gift given once ...
Their measure
— to proclaim

(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)

(from "To: Mimi Romanelli"

~indebted to suggestion of
https://hellopoetry.com/MacGM/
for filling me up one of the trillions of missing datapoints
in my slowly diminishing insights & missing knowledges
<>
"I am happy, Dear, to have walked with steady faith on the waters of our uncertainty all the way to that island which is your heart and where pain blossoms. Finally: happy."

from the poem by Rilke
"To: Mimi Romanelli"
see notes

'~~~'
so worthy of my/our attentions,
his reflections on loss, grief and mortality,
for in the natural course of this poet's story,
the interplay of this shopping list of preoccupations,
foremost on this temporal frontal lobe in these waning days
of my perhaps, last summery summary,
that falls upon your eyes with
my guilt that you have clicked upon
this e~pistle, in and un~
tentionally & tensionally
thus demanding & tendering post-haste
my apology

so be advised, be learned, and query why
an essay on ending mortality should be
be finished with a concluding a
"Finally: happy."
by breaching this poet Rilke essay,
one discovers
this poet sees through the storms of his preoccupations,
"the red of his blood,"
because he loves
another human, being,
so many would agree,
yet so few are so certain,
as Rilke,
and yet,

"It is still always that death which continues inside of me, which works in me, which transforms my heart, which deepens the red of my blood, which weighs down the life that had been ours so that it may become a bittersweet drop coursing through my veins and penetrating everything, and which ought to be mine forever.

And while I am completely engulfed in my sadness, I am happy to sense that you exist,
Beautiful. I am happy to have flung myself
without fear into your beauty just as a bird flings itself into space. I am happy, Dear, to have walked with steady faith on the waters of our uncertainty all the way to that island which is your heart and where pain blossoms.
Finally: happy."


<>
Writ the last week of August,
and the first of September
2025